


Bespoke Pyjamas

by chasingriver



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Clothing, Clothing Kink, M/M, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Pre-Slash, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur walks out of the hotel bathroom, it takes Eames a moment to find the right words. To find any words. “Oh, darling, I didn’t know they made bespoke pyjamas.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bespoke Pyjamas

When Arthur walks out of the hotel bathroom, it takes Eames a moment to find the right words. To find any words.

“Oh, darling, I didn’t know they made bespoke pyjamas.”

Arthur scowls at him. “Just because I’m well-dressed doesn’t mean I have everything tailored to my specifications.”

“You and your specifications. Look at you. Have those been _ironed?”_

He likes to give the impression he knows nothing about clothes. Certainly his shirts give that impression, but Arthur still hasn’t figured out he only wears them to get a reaction. He doesn’t know about the suits Eames has in his flat in London. Impeccable suits. It takes real effort to find the hideous shirts he wears for him, but he’s joyfully catalogued his horrified reaction to each one in exquisite detail, and now he won’t wear anything else. At least not around Arthur. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

The pyjamas are 500 thread-count Egyptian cotton; the way the soft material drapes around his shoulders is a dead giveaway. And the style is all Arthur—charcoal grey with a crisp white piping around the open collar and the cuffs. Classy, but all business. Put a gun in his hands and it wouldn’t look out of place. Put him on the front of a fashion magazine and he’d look equally at home. If Arthur ever gives up dreamsharing, he could slip into the fashion world and leave Milan begging for more.

He pretends the glimpse of skin doesn’t affect him.

“How can you sleep in those? As soon as you lie down, you’re going to be all _rumpled_.” The very idea makes him a little light-headed, because Arthur is never rumpled. Never a hair out of place. Sometimes his tie is askew after a particularly nasty firefight. But after a night in bed, there _will_ be wrinkles in that pristine cotton. Exquisitely random folds that will leave him looking soft around the edges. Soft in a way that the team never sees. Like Eames imagines he’d look after a night in bed with him. He swallows.

He’d been thrilled when the hotel was overbooked and he had to share a room. Arthur had given him a withering look but eventually relented. As long as Eames took the couch.

He would have agreed to take the floor if he’d known the payoff would be this big.

He takes in every detail, as carefully as he would if he were forging him. He’s already memorised Arthur’s entire catalogue of suits, and even an improbable pair of swimming trunks from that job in Turks and Caicos, but pyjamas are the Holy Grail of Arthurian fashion. He smirks at his own mental pun.

Arthur misinterprets the look. “What? Just because I have some fashion sense…”

“Your fashion sense is impeccable, darling.”

“I thought you were sleeping on the couch. Why are you watching me get undressed?”

He wants to point out that he didn’t have a chance to watch because Arthur got undressed in the bathroom, but he decides it won’t help his case. “Just being sociable,” he says breezily. “Night.”

He drapes a sheet across the couch, strips down to his boxers, and spreads out luxuriously. Normally he’d find a blanket or something to cover himself up, but he turns the heat up a few degrees instead. Arthur might wander past his mostly-naked body and feel a sudden outburst of lust. Not bloody likely, but one lives in hope.

He’s exhausted from the day’s job, but he forces himself to stay awake until he hears Arthur’s breathing patterns even out. There’s no way he’s passing up this chance. He gets up to get a drink of water. The couch is on the far side of the room, and he has to go by the bed to get to the bathroom; it’s a plausible cover story if Arthur wakes up and catches him looking.

His eyes adjust to the darkness and he sees Arthur sprawled across the bed on his stomach, one hand tucked underneath his pillow and the other off at an improbable angle. He’s already kicked off the covers, one leg bent towards his chest. He gets a lovely glimpse of toned calf. The wrinkles in his pyjamas are intoxicating.

He smiles as he drags himself away to get the glass of water. Back on the couch, he languidly reconstructs the image in his head. He’d expected something more restrained; he’s thrilled to be wrong.

He wakes up the next morning feeling contented and relaxed—until he sees Arthur sitting in the desk chair, fully dressed, staring at him with an inscrutable expression. He bolts upright. “Bloody hell! How long have you been there?”

“Good morning, Mr Eames,” he says with a smirk. “I felt I should return the favour.”

There’s no use in playing innocent; he’s an amazing liar, but when it comes to Arthur, his skills are useless. He wonders if he staged the whole tableau. “I was admiring your pyjamas.”

“I was admiring your choice of sleepwear as well,” Arthur says, with the barest lift of an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [chasingriversong](http://chasingriversong.tumblr.com). 
> 
> This is my first Inception fic. Please be kind!
> 
> Oh, and 'pyjamas' is the British spelling of 'pajamas'. Since this is written from Eames' point-of-view, the story falls under my British grammar and spelling rules. :)


End file.
